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Fiction: Somewhere to Start

Illustrations by Amelia Davies

In Oxford? Get to the Jam Factory for the latest group show from Collective Era. “Chaos in Continuum” is a combination of old and new from this collective known for their bright, linkstore intense and hyper-surreal work, clinic incorporating elements of contemporary fine art, buy information pills urban art and surrealism within their collaborative paintings.

Wednesday February 11th

Lisson Gallery is worth a visit for two reasons at the moment. Lisson Presents, brings together the work of both new and already represented artists; fans of Bergman might like the piece from Igor & Svetlana Kopystiansky, who use footage from Persona centering on Liv Ullmann’s gaze. There is also a new work from Gerard Byrne, photographer and film maker for whom this will be the first solo show in the UK for two years, including a dramatized script of interviews conducted with prisoners of war awaiting the Nuremberg trails.

Thursday February 12th

Index will the first exhibition in a British institution from leading American artist Sean Snyder, running at the ICA until April 19th. His work is often conflict based, with images that document the Cold War, the Iraq War, and Soviet occupation of Afghanistan, throughout which Snyder explores the subjective nature of propaganda, the ethics of reportage, the staging and manipulation of images, and the changing role of photojournalists in the era of consumer digital imaging.

Friday February 13th

Whilst rifling through fabrics for a penguin suit in Soho, I found myself standing in line besides Caroline McCambridge, a striking array of materials piled on her arms. I couldn’t help asking what it was all for, to which she explained that she was an artist in the process putting together an installation for an upcoming show. A little google here and there and I have found Dubbing Light, a new exhibition at Kingsgate Gallery starting on Thursday. With improvisation at the centre of both their works, McCambridge and Aya Fukami will produce a two-part evolving exhibition starting life in colour and moving towards monochromatic pieces in the second week. I’m intrigued to see what she’ll do with all that fabric, and I promised I’d wear my penguin suit.

Caroline McCambridge – Plastic Space 2005

Sunday February 15th

There’s an all day event at Limoncello Gallery this Sunday, though I couldn’t quite tell you what it will involve. The so-called “Vanity Affairs” are annual occasions at Limoncello from Giorgio Sadotti. It’s all about grassroots art work in London and is very vaguely described. If you like surprises, then do go along.

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Why haven’t we included fiction? Well exactly. So when we received some short stories from Sharlene Teo we thought it would be great opportunity to bring together writers and illustrators, page making ourselves the literary equivalent of matchmaker dot com. In time for heartbreak day we have a sorry tale of a girl and her cats, page ten of them. Something more light-hearted about Amelia Earhart to come.
Words: Sharlene Teo
Illustration: Anna Wadham

The day you left, ten cats appeared on my doorstep out of nowhere and would not budge. They sat by my muddy shoes regarding me dolefully, as if offering some sort of respite, some sort of mockery, some sort of consolation. I had no choice but to let them into my cramped one-bedroom flat for tea. The living room was the bedroom was the dining room. We sat around a shoe-rack, which I’d turned into a makeshift table, these ten cats and I. I tried to make conversation. But being cats and not humans, they were honest. They didn’t say anything.

We had tea and weak cookies until the sun folded itself on to dark strips on the wall. The shadows made me think of hand puppets. I knew, then, as an hour segued into the next that you had well and truly left me, and, by extension, I had well and truly left you. Oh, I wasn’t going anywhere. But there it was, I could almost see it silhouetted in cat’s ears, the outline of patient paws- this growing, gnawing, intractable distance. Thin as blocked light, but strong as a planet.

I knew you would leave but I knew it gradually, the way we learn language. The language of absence is filled in punctuation-first; the commas, the ellipses, the loping brackets. A full stop the first time we could regard each other seriously, and I wasn’t myself, I was a separate entity, unremarkable and noncommittal, could have been anyone else.

The cats stayed in my house but politely shitted on the potted plants. I only had three potted plants, on the balcony outside, but how they thrived. They grew and arched until they were full, strong trees, all-but blocking out the light. My flat became a greenhouse, a forest, and a haven for the cats that bred like rabbits and judged me with their casual grace and indolent flawlessness.

You went out to dinner, just across the street. Peering through the branches I could see you putting your coat on a chair, pulling a chair out for a girl. You were having dinner with two girls, maybe friends, maybe one day, one of them or one by one, a lover. There was nothing dramatic, for today- just three people, sitting down to dinner. Drawing out the menus, inaudibly deciding between chicken or lamb, a soup or a salad.

Me, I petted the seventh cat that had been born three days ago, a slip of a thing. I held it in my palm like a Palm Pilot and I had my dinner. Cat nip, because that was all we had around here, as we gathered around the 8 o clock soap opera. The grandmother cat, the first to have appeared after you left (the sound of your shoes dispersing like marbles) was especially fond of a certain actor. She purred appreciatively when he appeared. I found it very random because he was a supporting actor; in fact, he was the postman having an affair with the bitter matriarch. I thought about affairs and I couldn’t imagine having another- perhaps hyperbolically, perhaps realistically. I mean, maybe I could spend my whole life in this cream-walled apartment with my multiplying cats, the scarce sunlight, and little consolation. Perhaps I’d always sit here on my grandmother’s knitted quilt, hankering after a cure or else a stupid ideal.

Across the road, three strangers had dinner. None of them knew me. This is falsely true or truly false. Maybe one day in a space age somewhere they will invent a button you can press to so casually turn truth into fiction, or history into excess; spare paper you can fold and cut off. The thing is, I’m no wiser than a wheezing cat, a frivolous kitten. I know nothing; I’m so immature. My heart does not mend. It merely transfers from hurt to hurt and from love to great love. I need this to subsist upon, because my days are getting thick with hairballs and silence.

Yet if you set back the clock to the minute you’d just gone, I wouldn’t know what to do. I’ve tried to pickle that moment, but it is obstinately inedible. I suppose I would just stand there, in my mind racing after you, stumbling on my words and shoes, trying to unpick what I’ve stitched over forever.

It’s like a ball of yarn, rolling inexorably out of touch. I have dreams of leaving, but I’m right here when I wake up.

The work of 13 of the countries most exciting and talented designers is showcased against a stark silver and white (some might say Ikea-esque) interior backdrop, this web giving all the pieces room to shine.

The new identity mentioned in the title is that of challenging the notion that Sweden is just a land of bubbly blondes. And these designers certainly do that.

The most established of the designers on show are Ann-Sofie Back and Sandra Backlund, who set the bar high with their designs but their compatriots don’t dissappoint, also showing strong, individual pieces.

An example of Ann-Sofie Back’s simple yet elegant designs that are on show.

Amazing sculptured knitwear from Sandra Backlund, redefining the idea that knitwear should be restricted to scarves and cardigans.

Lovisa Burfitt’s creations have a highly theatrical, dramatic edge. She cites punk, goth and rock music and styles as a major influence.

Due to the accessible way the clothes are displayed, you can easily see all aspects of the outfit, such as the interesting back on this Martin Bergstrom piece.

The unusually titled Fifth Avenue Shoe Repair, otherwise known as husband and wife Lee Cotter and Astrid Olsson. Their exaggerated and unusual shapes call to mind such greats as Viktor and Rolf, which is good company to be in.

While walking around the exhibits, a large screen plays clips of the designers, showing them at work and creating the pieces, adding depth to the clothes that you see before you.

There is also a display of Swedish jewellery designers at this interesting and informative exhibition.

Swedish Fashion: Exploring a New Identity
Fashion and Textile Museum
6th February – 17th May 2009
Tickets: £5 / £3 Students and concessions / under 12′s free
At only 22, viagra 60mg recent London College of Fashion MA graduate Emilia Bariamova joins a wave of conceptual knitwear designers offering a highly skilled, artistically hand knitted collection that is rooted in deep and meaningful inspiration.

Emilia has taken the intimate and intense exposure of fighting with ones’ own confused state of mind and related it to the metaphorical process of knitting; creating comfort and protection through a tangled web of yarn that embodies a visual expression of a personal ‘breathing space’.
Hey Emilia, where do you hail from?
Originally from Moscow, Russia

Where did you study before the London College of Fashion (LCF)? Moscow State Academy of Fine Chemical Technology. I did a degree in Chemistry for a year to please my parents but realised it wasn’t really my passion.
So you came to England to study fashion?
Yes, I studied a fashion foundation course, and got a BA Hons in Surface Textiles for Fashion and then MA Fashion, all at LCF. Also, I undertook work placements with Alexander McQueen and Russian designer Chapurin and others.
What was it like to study at LCF?Intense.

Your collection pays tribute to tradition and craft through knitting. Is this something you feel strongly about and if so why?
I do, actually. Living in the environment where most things are disposable and everything changes so fast, I find that people lose the appreciation of craftsmanship and perhaps, even quality.
Your collection uses colour to depict an emotional journey. Do you feel colour is an important metaphor for emotion and feelings?
I am very interested in psychology and always take my inspiration from various experiences and matters. I believe each colour carries a huge subliminal impact. Therefore, when starting a collection, I choose a colour palette. Personally, I love observing the shades of nail varnishes on people and whether they fit with the rest of the look; in their silence they speak volumes.

Do you have a favourite colour that you feel represents you?
I like them all. But if you ask me which colour do I relate myself to at the moment, I’d say deep purple.

Knitwear designers such as Sandra Backlund and Simone Shailes are gaining a lot of media attention at the moment. Do you think there is a gap in the market for more directional knitwear?Possibilities in knitwear are endless. And, it’s great that there are emerging young talents that challenge the perception and purpose of knitwear. Raising awareness and creating trends for conceptual knitwear, which border-lines between art and fashion, definitely forms a solid gap in the market.

What is your biggest personal achievement?
Perhaps, looking from prospective, I’d say moving from Moscow to London at the age of 16 on my own, not knowing anyone in UK.

What are you hopes and plans for the future?
I hope one day my dreams will come true, I plan on working hard to achieve it. (just kidding!).
I’ve got lots of plans, which are not necessarily related to fashion. Apart from launching my own luxury label in few years time, I would like to build a shelter for women in Russia and open my own chocolate factory.

Sitting comfortably next to the likes of Swedish knitting queen Sandra Backlund and recent Central Saint Martins graduate Simone Shailes, Emilia’s dreams of opening her own chocolate factory may have to be put on hold as we believe this is one insightful designer to keep your eye on.

Here we are with a second installment from Sharlene Teo. This time we have illustrations from the lovely Amelia Davies. You can see more of her work here. If you would like to submit a short story then do get in touch, health this might just be the start of something marvelous.

I have always been fascinated with disappearance. Who hasn’t? As a child my mother bought me a book from Popular bookstore; a trashy purple book called THE WORLD’S GREATEST MYSTERIES. It was full of disappearances. There was something about a pretty nurse. A young girl. Always women, dosage always beautiful. It’s the beautiful who are best remembered. It was then that i first read of Amelia Earhart. I thought she was fascinating and maddening and gorgeous, erectile with her glamourous pilot’s gear and her bright eyes and her headgear flapping in the wind. There was one picture of her, grainy, with her face slightly tilted to the camera. Mostly, she was looking at the sky ahead of her.??I asked my sister about Amelia Earhart and my sister said she got sucked into the Bermuda Triangle. I tried to imagine what it was like; being sucked into a timeless vortex of ocean and swirling newspapers. Did it hurt? Or did it tickle? It seemed like it would have tickled and you wouldn’t believe what was happening around you, as the wind gathered and everything turned dark. Ask someone today about the Bermuda Triangle and they might laugh. Mysteries seem to get obsolete after a while, passe or archaic. ??It is possible that Amelia Earhart didn’t really disappear, that maybe she landed on some tropical island somewhere and married a local man and had many babies. Or that disappearance and all the intrigue and glamour it connotes, is simply a euphemism for dead. Maybe she was drunk and flew into a tree. Maybe she ran out of fuel and crashed into the ocean. All the male pilots probably laughed about it over beers. I don’t even know enough to begin analysing. All I have is that first impression of her, picture on a page, going missing somewhere and a mystery forever. It makes me wonder.??I know a girl from school who disappeared. I didn’t really know her, I saw her in the corridors and she was rich and rather haughty and honestly scared me. She disappeared because her father supposedly embezzled a lot of money.

All i know is one day she was everywhere, and the next she was gone just like that. And no one knows where she is even today. And this reminds me of another thing my sister told me, about how on the american livejournal secret sharing community some man said he had survived 9/11, and was living a different life some where else. All this is very fascinating. What is it like waking up and knowing that somewhere some people are wondering about you? ??I am sure that smug aura of mystery would wear off after a while; that someday someone will bump into Amelia Earhart in some supermarket in Boston, Manchester, Nice, Tahiti, and somehow recognise her. She would sigh like she’d just gotten back from the doctor’s, the two o’clock matinee and nothing mattered. And she would say, “Yes, it’s me.”